Midlands Myths
by hrhrionastar
Summary: A series of oneshots inspired by a quote each, these myths will range from hundreds of years in the future-chapter 1-to Richard's own parents, in Chapter 2.
1. Old Lies

**Old Lies**

_"Legend: a lie that has attained the dignity of age."_

"So _then_," Novice Joy whispered excitedly, "the Seeker killed Darken Rahl with the Sword of Truth, only somehow that meant there was a tear in the veil to the Underworld, probably because Darken Rahl had, I don't know, a special deal with the Keeper or something, like Sister Nicci, before she died and got kicked out of the Palace of the Prophets and became unstoppable and finally died of old age in some random village, _unless _she's still around waiting to catch bad Novices who listen to the Sisters of the Dark like Sister Nyella told me. So anyway, the Seeker and the Mother Confessor had to go on this quest to find the Stone of Tears, instead of finally consummating the all-consuming love they'd felt for each other since the moment his dark, dreamy eyes met her vibrant green ones, and—" Novice Joy was nearly swooning with the vicarious romantic thrill, when Novice Marla interrupted.

She didn't believe this ridiculous farrago of nonsense, and, if it weren't for her natural talent for magic, she probably wouldn't believe in_ that_. It was no use pretending any of this made sense, least of all the Prelate, who was ancient, and had probably actually met the Seeker on account of that weird out-of-synch time thing. Novice Marla didn't hold with that nonsense, either. The idea that when she finally attained enough rank to get out of here she'd have to look up her great-great nieces and nephews was ludicrous, offensive, and unfair.

So she had no hesitation in saying exasperatedly, "Oh, for the Creator's sake, Joy, 'their all-consuming love for one another'? You sound like one of those awful romance scrolls Sister Nyella confiscated from Gemma's room! And that's probably not how it happened, anyway. The Seeker was probably just some poor man who had no idea what he was doing, and the Mother Confessor was the last of her kind until they had all those kids, so she probably wasn't anything out of the ordinary either. They just lucked out, surviving that long."

"Finding the Stone of Tears and using it to stop the Keeper wasn't luck," argued Novice Ramina. "I mean, if the Seeker hadn't done that, we'd all be dead!"

"Actually," bookish Novice Sharissa noted, "none of us would ever have been born, since the Seeker and the Mother Confessor lived hundreds of years ago."

"Besides," Novice Marla said defiantly, "the Seeker found the Stone of Tears, but then he totally gave it to the Keeper, which could've destroyed the entire world. What an idiot!"

"I thought you didn't care about this stuff, seeing as how the Seeker and the Mother Confessor were ordinary, boring people, right?" Novice Ramina said slyly.

"It's just so romantic how they thought their love was doomed, and they could never be together, but then, somehow, it all worked out and they were married!" Novice Joy sighed.

"How did it all work out, anyway?" Novice Marla asked, curious in spite of herself. She didn't believe any of it, she told herself righteously, she was just making small talk with her roommates. And it could be worse; she could be living with Novice Gemma. Novice Marla shuddered.

"There are several theories," Novice Sharissa said, and Novices Marla, Ramina, and Joy restrained their instinctive eye-rolling and cringing at the prospect of being lectured, because they really did want to hear it. "The first is that the Seeker possessed some extraordinary magical power which protected him from Confession; his brother, Darken Rahl, was immune to it, which leads some to believe all the Lords Rahl couldn't be Confessed. Or the Seeker could have acquired a similar power during his travels through the Midlands, on his various heroic quests. Some say that, after the Seeker and the Mother Confessor saved the world from the Keeper and repaired the tear in the veil, the Creator came down to earth and blessed them, making it possible for them to be together without the Seeker becoming Confessed." Novice Sharissa paused for breath, and Novice Marla imagined her pushing a pair of glasses up her nose. "Or," Novice Sharissa finished lightly, "maybe the Seeker was protected because he was already in love with the Mother Confessor—ever since their eyes met, and all."

"Ooh, I like that," breathed Novice Joy. "I think that's absolutely the most romantic, wonderful, and perfect thing about the Legend of the Seeker!"

"The Legend of the Seeker?" Novice Marla scoffed. "Everyone knows legends are just lies that have attained the dignity of age. Weren't you even _listening_ to Sister Marielle?"

"Spirits, what a name. The Legend of the Seeker. Sounds like one of Gemma's romance scrolls," agreed Novice Ramina, trying to sound more sophisticated than she was.

"_I _like it," Novice Joy said defiantly. "I bet the Seeker was just too dreamy—incredibly handsome and wonderful—imagine what it must have been like to be with him—"

"Well," said Novice Ramina, "the current Lord Rahl is related to the Seeker, you know. Many greats-grandson, and all. Maybe you should look him up."

"I'm stuck here," Novice Joy sighed. "Learning magic. There are no handsome men around here at all—not that, even if there were, any of them would compare to the Seeker!" And she was lost in another romantic reverie.

"Well, and, if you 'looked up' the current Lord Rahl, you would get Confessed, seeing as how they're all Confessors since the time of the Seeker, _and _you'd probably get thrown out of the Palace of the Prophets just like that awful Sister Nicci," Novice Sharissa pointed out.

"Let's make a vow," Novice Marla suggested, on a whim. "Promise none of us will ever, ever become Sisters of the Dark."

"I promise," said Novice Sharissa.

"I _definitely_ promise," said Novice Joy.

"I promise…I guess," said Novice Ramina.

Yes, Novice Marla really was glad she was rooming with Novices Sharissa, Joy and Ramina, instead of that awful Novice Gemma, who was probably as bad as the infamous Sister Nicci. Or _worse_.

Even if they were all a little obsessed with the Legend of the Seeker, especially Novice Joy. After all, you couldn't have everything in roommates.

And it _was_ a bit of a romantic story. Even if Novice Marla was pretty sure she'd heard that Darken Rahl had been alive and well for at least forty years after the Seeker was supposed to have killed him. And that many kids was surely a little excessive. And she was almost positive there were a few other, extra bystander-sidekick types who had tagged along and stopped the Seeker and the Mother Confessor succumbing to temptation before the Creator blessed their union, or whatever.

Not that Novice Marla planned to explain any of that. Novice Joy wouldn't believe her, Novice Sharissa would bore them all with actual historical facts, and Novice Ramina wouldn't stop harping on the _consummation_ part of the all-consuming love.

Besides, it was a better story without all that real life stuff. Novice Marla thought she'd better let sleeping legends lie.

Even if the story was all about the Seeker of _Truth._


	2. The Trouble With Children

**The Trouble With Children**

_"If two wrongs don't make a right, try three."_

_

* * *

_

"Panis, _darling_," Nila Rahl cooed, running her fingers gently over her husband's sleeve, "you did see about the decorations for the party, didn't you? That 'magic' friend of yours must be good for _something_."

"Of course, dear one," Panis said, patting her shoulder and not listening. For once in his life, Panis truly didn't care about the party—it was entirely irrelevant, since his talk with Zedd. He felt energized, as though he had been asleep for most of his life, and only now was he awake.

His fingers tightened on Nila's waist. "My queen…" he murmured in her ear.

Nila blushed and leaned toward him, but said, "But Panis darling, _now_? We really should get ready for the party. Our guests will be arriving…Oh!"

It was the best party Panis could remember. Zedd was there, chatting up all the women, but they must've sensed something different about Panis, because they hung on his words, tossed their hair, and smiled too widely. Nila pouted and hung on to Panis's arm, which got annoying after awhile.

Still, nothing could destroy Panis's new confidence. Why, already Nila might be pregnant with the heir they had both wanted for so long.

Panis didn't care if Zedd's magic cure was unnatural. He was happier than he had ever been.

* * *

"He's always been a disappointment, always!" Panis raged, pacing the room. "Ever since he was a baby—and now his obsession with Dark Magic—what have I done to deserve such a son?"

Commander Trimack nodded sympathetically. "It is unjust, that Lord Darken must be your heir," he agreed.

Panis's eyes narrowed. "Or must he?" he said softly. "Commander Trimack, I must tell you of a marvelous secret—a prophecy!" He smiled. "That will throw a spanner in the works for my _dear_ son!"

Commander Trimack nodded, eager to hear his Lord's plot. "Yes, my Lord?" A prophecy?" he asked.

"Yes," Panis said fiercely. "Yes. A prophecy that _my son_ will die by the hand of another one of my sons—a child of prophecy, a child to undo all the evil that wretched boy has done!"

"Wonderful, my Lord," said Commander Trimack.

"And I know just the woman," Panis said, eyes gleaming. "Taralyn Zorander. Our child will change the world!"

"Yes, my Lord," Commander Trimack agreed, but he frowned in confusion. "But how will you court her, when she knows you as Lord Rahl, and the enemy of her father?"

"I know just the thing," Panis purred, and, pulling a small double mirror out of a pocket, he ran a hand over his face. Before Commander Trimack's eyes, his appearance changed to that of a young shepherd. "Keep an eye on the boy," Panis said, his new lips curving into a smile. "I have some…business to attend to."

* * *

Revived and packed out of the palace to a remote garrison, Panis couldn't stop thinking about Richard—his son, about to be born, might never get a chance to live. It was all Darken's fault, he thought angrily. To kill his own father—his own brother—

For the first time, Panis wondered if siring Richard had been the right decision. He wanted Darken to get what was coming to him, to suffer for the Dark magic he was intent upon unleashing on the world. But to lose Richard to some ridiculous power play of Darken's—to lose the life he had only glimpsed, the simple life with Taralyn and Richard—

It was unbearable. Panis was surprised to realize how worried he was, not only for his unborn son, named already, but for Taralyn. He'd never considered remarrying after Nila's death, but Taralyn Zorander was something else.

If only—he never should have done it. Grown so attached to Taralyn, or the baby.

"Looks like I've misused your gift again, Zedd, old friend," he murmured wryly, staring at the wall.

* * *

When he found Taralyn again, it was like magic—he had been at loose ends for months, spending his days alone in his room at the garrison, lest he be seen by the common soldiers—who took their orders from his son, now.

He wore the face of that shepherd still, out of a vague sense of nostalgia. He never let himself think of all he'd lost.

"Richard!" Taralyn cried, when she saw Panis walking. He'd gotten bored with his room and was out for a forbidden stroll through the tiny village.

"Taralyn!" Panis exclaimed back, embracing her. "Thank the Creator you're all right! And—the baby?"

She sobered instantly, but didn't pull out of his grasp. "With my father. He's safe. I named him Richard, after you." She looked as heartbroken at the loss of her son, Panis's namesake, as Panis had been feeling for months, ever since Darken killed him, and Commander Trimack had a Mord'Sith revive him.

"Thank the Spirits," Panis said sincerely. He knew the baby would be safe with Zedd. "I'm so glad he's all right. And you—I thought for sure—" he broke off, lest he say too much. Taralyn didn't know he was Panis Rahl, and he didn't mean for her to learn.

Taralyn clung to him, her head against his shoulder. "You're here," she said wonderingly. "Oh, Richard."

Panis stroked her dark hair gently. "I'm here," he whispered. "Oh, Tara, I'm here."

It wasn't long after that when she told him she was pregnant again. He resolved that this time, Darken would not get as much as a whiff of the information.

Panis couldn't help thinking that this time, with this child, things would be different. Maybe this time, this child would save them all—fix the rift between himself and Darken, bring Richard back to him. Maybe this time, he hadn't misused Zedd's gift at all.

* * *

"Here she is," Taralyn said breathlessly. "Your daughter."

Panis automatically reached out to take the week-old child, and then stiffened. "Daughter?" he said, peering at the baby in his arms. She grabbed for his hair but couldn't reach, gurgling happily. "There hasn't been a girl born to the Rahl bloodline for a thousand years!"

"Rahl?" demanded Taralyn dangerously. "You told me your name was Richard Long!" She snatched the baby girl back, clutching the child to her chest, and slapped Panis across the face. "You lied to me, Richard!"

Panis's panic was somewhat allayed by her continued reference to him as Richard; clearly, she had yet to deduce that there really weren't that many extra Rahl cousins lying around. Even if there had been, Darken would have killed them all by now.

Still, the situation was serious enough. Panis, trained by the Mord'Sith, as all Lord Rahls were, to withstand pain, did not flinch, although his cheek smarted abominably.

"Dear one—" he pleaded, turning on the famous Rahl charm. "It was a necessary deception—I couldn't bring myself to tell you my true name when all the world knows how your father feels about the Rahls! I was only trying to protect you!"

Taralyn looked at him, and her eyes seemed to soften. For a moment, Panis allowed himself to hope. But then she glanced down at the baby girl in her arms, and her expression hardened again.

"Richard," she said, "I'm sorry. But I can't let my daughter be raised by a man who would lie to me. This is goodbye." She stared at him long and hard, as though to memorize his face—not his true face, of course, Panis thought, with a bitter stab of regret—and then turned on her heel and walked out of his life forever.

Panis shook his head, thinking a daughter could never have done all he hoped for, anyway. "Women!" he muttered to himself. But really, he was thinking of his three children—wishing he could be a better father to them.

It was time he realized he was never meant to be a father. Zedd was right all along. He would atone for his mistakes—all three of them—he decided. He would join a monastery, they were always good at suffering.

"I'm sorry, old friend," he whispered. It didn't even occur to him to wonder what Taralyn would name their daughter. Girls were useless, anyway.


	3. Just Looking

**Just Looking**

_"He would make a lovely corpse."_

_

* * *

_

"You want me to…"

"Train the Seeker. Yes. Do I have to tell you more than once, Mistress Denna?" I said, understandably irritated.

"No, my Lord," she said at once, looking apprehensive. As it should be. I will not be questioned by my Mord'Sith.

"My Lord?" she asked slyly after a moment. "How will I…recognize him?"

"How will you—of course," I sighed. Recently, I've been practicing farseeing. It's easy to get the general picture, but focusing on specific features, such as the Confessor's eyes or that irritatingly compassionate, idiotic grin of the Seeker's, is more difficult. And I've been allowing my Mord'Sith to get advance views of their targets in order to hone my skill. An indulgence, but why not?

I reached for my scrying mirror. It was a simple matter to summon the image of the Seeker and Confessor. The Wizard was nowhere to be seen, which explained the especial ease of the process; Wizards are notoriously difficult to scry, even if they don't know anyone is looking. Indeed, I found it odd that the Wizard had not already attempted to block my scrying of his companions as well.

It would have been a futile endeavor, as blood calls to blood and there is nothing that could hide my _little brother_ (damn you, Father), the Seeker, from me.

Still, unless the Wizard knew of our unfortunate relation…

I put aside these aggravating thoughts and focused instead upon the Confessor. Although the Seeker is easier to scry, she is far more pleasant to look upon.

When I had gotten her eyes precisely, narrowed in some trifling annoyance as they were, I carefully ignored Denna's faint sound of distaste and enhanced the Seeker's image.

There he was, in all his pathetic do-gooder glory. I stared at him, trying to understand how easily everyone around him fell under that rescuing-kittens-in-trees, total-lack-of-original-thought spell. It had to be because he was a Rahl—our persuasive talents are famously expert, and he wastes them upon powerless village idiots. The fool.

"Ah," I heard Denna's quick intake of breath, and watched her out of the corner of my eyes.

"I know," I drawled, "He_ would_ make a lovely corpse, wouldn't he?"

Denna laughed, then glanced over at me, looking worried.

"Ah, Mistress Denna," I said, inwardly relieved that she had yet to show a weakening of resolve from the mere _sight _of the Seeker. I caressed her cheek, thinking that, although she was nothing to my fiery Cara, Denna was still always one of my favorites. So thorough. "When I make an amusing remark, I expect my audience to laugh." My eyes narrowed. "You will please me, Mistress Denna, won't you? Train the Seeker well—make me proud." And my fingers tightened against her cheek for a moment.

This solution was beautiful in its simplicity, if I did say so myself. The Seeker my willing slave would be far more useful to me than the Seeker dead. No doubt he could lead me to his companions as well, if they were not fool enough to try and _rescue_ him.

"Yes, my Lord," Denna said, and I could read her devotion to me in her face. I released her. "At once, my Lord," she said, pride that I had chosen _her_ to train the Seeker evident in her bearing. It was a natural choice—there are few so skilled with pain as Denna. She is so—patient.

She left, and I was reduced, much against my will, to further study, in my scrying mirror, of my nemesis. I allowed myself to brood on my father for awhile before taking one last, lingering look at the beautiful Confessor and returning my thoughts to the present.

I wouldn't let myself dwell in daydreams.

_(the Seeker's dead body at my feet, the Confessor in my arms, my Father's voice telling me he was proud of me…)_

I had work to do.


	4. Vengeance

**Vengeance**

_"Forgiveness is the ultimate sacrifice."_

_

* * *

_

Flynn is a terrible traveling companion. He complains constantly, never does his share of the work, and seems far too sanguine about the various threats his companions pose to his sanity and well-being.

Kahlan's fingers itch to Confess him. But she knows she is only distracting herself from her true dilemma.

Kahlan watches Flynn catch up with Cara and make some impertinent remark. Cara responds with a glare and a hand brushed against her agiel—saying without words, _Just try it._

Before Stowcroft, that little scene might even have made Kahlan smile.

Now all she sees when she looks at Cara is the Mord'Sith torturing Dennee to death, and her eyes grow hot.

But she has made her decision—has seen how sincere Cara's remorse is. Kahlan knows Cara would do anything to protect Richard, and, although that devotion stirs jealousy in her heart, she knows Richard needs Cara. And Kahlan can hardly fault Cara's taste.

So Kahlan will accept her, make camp with her, fight by her side, even protect her from harm—and someday soon maybe she won't sleep with a knife under her pillow.

Kahlan makes Cara a part of her life, and not only for Richard's sake. But Kahlan vows that, for what she did to Dennee and the little boy Richard fought so hard to save, Kahlan will never forgive her.

* * *

The sweet joy of having her sister returned to her is almost worth the pain of knowing Richard is in deadly peril—Kahlan thinks she should feel sorry for saving Cara from Dennee's wrath, but today there is no room in her heart for hatred. All she can think of is that Dennee is alive, by some miracle returned to her—

And when the magician Dennee Confessed brings Richard's soul back to his body, and Cara gives him the Breath of Life (Kahlan can't help but think that there is a useful ability), Kahlan is more grateful than she can express that there is enough dark magic elixir to bring back Richard, her beloved Richard—and not enough to oust Dennee from her own borrowed body.

Guilt assails her at the thought of the poor woman whose life Dennee has so unconsciously stolen—but then Richard wakes, and takes her in his arms, and all is well.

* * *

Someday, Kahlan thinks on the nights she can't sleep, someday maybe she will get Dennee's revenge. Maybe something will happen to reveal the depths to which all Mord'Sith have sunk to Richard, and he will no longer defend Cara.

(In her heart, Kahlan knows this will never happen; Richard sees the good in everyone, and his good opinion, once gained, is incredibly hard to lose.)

But the fantasy lacks its customary satisfaction, and Kahlan, watching Cara from her place on the hard ground, can't quite bring herself to hate her anymore. Underneath it all, she's as lost as Kahlan is—or more so.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Cara whispers from her position on watch. "Your watch isn't until just before dawn."

"Just thinking," Kahlan whispers back. Zedd snores.

"Well, think while you walk tomorrow," Cara whispers. "You need sleep or you'll be useless when we confront Denna." The Mord'Sith's eyes gleam briefly, and Kahlan knows she's thinking about some revenge of her own. Cara seems to feel little loyalty to her erstwhile Sisters; Kahlan isn't sure how she feels about that.

Kahlan smiles, not sure if Cara can see her or not. "Goodnight, Cara," she whispers.

Just before she falls asleep, she hears a faint, grudging, "Goodnight, Kahlan." In the morning, she isn't sure if she imagined it or not.

* * *

When the excruciating pain stops, Kahlan blinks, and just catches Cara's words—"I'm impressed. Even the strongest Mord'Sith would have fainted."

Kahlan smiles and nods, and, in the moment before her eyes close and she slumps over in a dead faint, she looks at Cara and thinks, _I forgive you._

Even more surprising, she doesn't change her mind when she wakes up. Kahlan's thigh barely twinges as she stomps after Cara (presumably all her nerve endings are burned away), and she thinks it again, very deliberately, _Cara Mason, I forgive you._

And Kahlan thinks of her vengeance, drags it to the front of her mind, and just…lets it go.


End file.
